His eyes drifted to Geflin and Paven, his body tightening. There was no easy answer. And whatever he did right now would carry serious consequences. Silence, or confession? Neither one felt right.
“Eliot?” Michael frowned at him, finally picking up on his tension.
He forced his teeth to unclench. “I’m fine.”
Geflin’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t look fine.”
Paven’s mouth also tugged into a frown. “I can see your thoughts spinning, boy. Let’s hear them.”
Eliot lowered his mug, fingers clenched around the wornhandle. The danger surrounding Clare was growing. He had to protect her, at least from the rebels. “The new maid is my sister.”
Shock splashed their faces, but the emotions that crossed afterward varied. Hurt flashed in Michael’s eyes; Paven began to smile, and Geflin eyed him with suspicion. “Why didn’t you come to us about this?” the blacksmith asked roughly.
“I only just found out,” Eliot lied, his throat dry despite all he’d drunk.
“Do you think she would join our cause?” Paven asked.
“Yes.” Another lie. Clare wouldn’t be able to stomach the grittiness of the rebellion, and Eliot would never put her in that position. But they didn’t need to know that. “I can sway her to our side, but I need time.” Time to convince her to return home.
Geflin scowled, but Paven nodded. “We can offer whatever assistance you need.”
“Thank you,” Eliot said.
It wasn’t long before Paven wandered away. A few minutes later, it was Geflin’s turn. Before leaving, he pinned Eliot with a look. “I eagerly await your report, Slaton.” Warning edged his words, but Eliot ignored that.
Once they were alone, Michael turned on him. “You just lied through your teeth!”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
He choked on a hoarse laugh. “You’ll recruit her? We both know you won’t.” He shook his head. “You’re walking the edge of treason.”
Eliot snorted. “That’s sort of expected in a rebel.”
“This isn’t a joke.”
“No,” he agreed. “This is my sister’s life.”
A man hooted across the room and bursts of laughter rose.
Michael hesitated, dropping his voice even lower. “We’ve never had anyone that close to the princess. She wouldn’t have to do anything dangerous. Just leave a door unlocked, or pass us information.”
“No. I’m going to convince her to go back home.”
Michael stiffened. “You’ve known for weeks. That’s why you’ve been so irritable. You tried to convince her to leave, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“That holds no bearing—”
“Of course it does! She isn’t going home. Don’t you want to make her as safe as possible?”
“You think recruiting her will keep her safe?”
“If she knows about the attacks, she’ll know what to avoid.”
“My sister isn’t a traitor. She doesn’t have what it takes to make those decisions. To sacrifice people. Recruiting her would be a mistake.”
Michael exhaled sharply, reluctant acceptance in the sound. “Paven and Geflin will expect a report.”
“I’ll stall for time until I can convince her to leave.”
Michael used his free hand to rub his temple. “This is going to bite you faster than a rabid dog.”
“Better me than her.”
Michael’s hand dropped suddenly. He blinked. “Oh, fates.”
Eliot’s defenses rose, tension flooding him. “What?”
He glanced at Eliot, mouth pursed.
Unease danced up Eliot’s spine. “What?”
“Trust me, it won’t improve your mood.”
“Michael . . .”
He exhaled slowly. “I think I saw your sister today, on the training field. I thought maybe it was just another castle maid, but now I think on it, she resembled you.”
Eliot’s blood chilled. His sister was on the training field, squaring off against a soldier who was probably double her size? But then, he should have realized she’d be trained; every direct servant to the royals learned to fight, in case they were required as a last line of defense.
Eliot pinched the bridge of his nose. “Perhaps it’s a good thing. Maybe this will convince her of the danger.”
Michael sipped at his drink, gaze wandering.
Eliot’s scalp prickled. “What aren’t you telling me?”
His friend eyed him. “I saw who she was training with. It . . . it was Markam.”
The name hit Eliot with all the power of a boulder. He was a little surprised he didn’t stumble back. Sparks of anger and protectiveness leapt over his skin, tightening every nerve in his body. His tone darkened. “Did he hurt her?”
Michael searched Eliot’s hard face, caution sparking in his eyes. “Not that I saw.”
That didn’t reassure him. The image of Markam coming at his sister, even with a practice blade, infuriated him. Markam had already hurt Clare, Eliot was sure of it.
His vision hazed red and he shoved his free hand through his hair, cursing. He needed to get her out of there. Away from the princess and the rebels—and from Markam.
Chapter 23
Grayson
Every muscle in Grayson’s body ached, but as he made his way down into the castle dungeon, his stiff movements came faster. It was late, but he was home. He’d made a rapid report to his father before leaving Reeve to make his private report to the king. He prayed Reeve wouldn’t mention his suspicions about Grayson saving the Hogan family. After saving Reeve’s life, he hoped the captain would keep that between them—a lie for a life.
Whatever happened, he’d deal with it later. Right now, he needed to see Mia.
Fletcher said nothing as he unlocked the cell door and Grayson stepped inside the dimly lit room. His eyes hadn’t even adjusted before he was hit with Mia’s body. Her arms swung around his neck and he latched onto her, holding them both steady. His throat was tight; no words could squeeze out. He buried his head in her shoulder, inhaling her lavender and jasmine scent and warming his bristled jaw against her smooth cheek. His hand slid up and down her spine, bringing her even closer.
She squeezed him so hard her slender arms trembled. “I missed you so much,” she said, voice cracking.
A muscle feathered along his jaw. He pressed his forehead into the curve of her neck and shoulder. Her skin was soft
